The Maze Runner:Lab Rats Version
by Abisinth
Summary: When Chase wakes up in the lift, the only thing he can remember is his name. He's surrounded by strangers-Boys whose memories are also gone. Outside the towering stone walls that surround the Glade is a limitless ever-changing maze. It's the only way out-and nobody's ever made it through alive. Then a girl arrives. The first girl ever. and the message she delivers is terrifying.
1. The Box

**Hello everybody! You have clicked on my story because A) You love The Maze Runner and Lab Rats and would love to see them combined or B) You have no freaking clue what The Maze Runner is and are only reading this because you are bored out of your mind. Probably the second one.**

 **Anyway, this fanfiction is basically going to be The Maze Runner but with Lab Rats characters. Now it's time for the stupid disclaimer I'm going to have to write for every chapter. _***

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own either Lab Rats or The Maze Runner. This story was made for entertainment purposes and the original TV Series and book trilogy belong to Disney Channel and James Dashner.**

He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air.

Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness.

With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.

Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as it ascended, turning the boy's stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, making him feel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting.

 _My name is Chase,_ he thought.

That… that was the only thing he could remember about his life.

He didn't understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded through his thoughts, facts and images, memories and details of the world and how it works. He pictured snow on trees, running down a leaf-strewn road, eating a hamburger, the moon casting a pale glow on a glassy meadow, swimming in a lake, a busy city square with hundreds of people bustling about their business.

And yet he didn't know where he came from, or how he'd gotten inside the dark lift, or who his parents were. He didn't even know his last name. Images of people flashed across his mind, but there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldn't think of one person he knew, or recall a single conversation.

The room continued its ascent, swaying; Chase grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chains that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was impossible to know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than that. Trusting his instincts, he knew he'd been moving for roughly half an hour.

Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.

With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Chase from his huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.

A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his fists.

Nothing.

Chase backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.

"Someone … help … me!" he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.

A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Chase watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands.

He heard noises above—voices—and fear squeezed his chest.

"Look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt."

"You're the klunk, shuck-face."

"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

Chase was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with echo; some of the words were completely foreign—others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies—people bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing.

And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were boys, all of them—some young, some older. Chase didn't know what he'd expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him. They were just teenagers. Kids. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing heart.

Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Chase hesitated, then stepped into it with his right foot and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hands reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him by his clothes, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Chase knew he'd never forget the words.

"Nice to meet ya, shank," the boy said. "Welcome to the Glade."


	2. The Glade

**~ THANK YOU! ~**

 **Guys, I was NOT expecting such kind reviews so fast on my story! As a special treat I have decided to update again today, and this is a long chapter so enjoy! :)**

 **(P.S. I can't find any character to match with Minho. Can a couple of you Maze Runner fans out there suggest one?)**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lab Rats or The Maze Runner series. This story was made for entertainment purposes and the originals belong to Disney Channel and James Dahsner.**

The helping hands didn't stop swarming around him until Chase stood up straight and had the dust brushed from his shirt and pants. Still dazzled by the light, he staggered a bit. He was consumed with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings. His new companions said nothing as he swiveled his head around, trying to take it all in.

As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared; some reached out and poked him with a finger. There had to be at least fifty of them, their clothes smudged and sweaty as if they'd been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths. Chase suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes flickering between the boys and the bizarre place in which he'd found himself.

They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of gray stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Chase could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.

"Look at the Greenbean," a scratchy voice said; Chase couldn't see who it came from. "Gonna break his shuck neck checkin' out the new digs." Several boys laughed.

"Shut your hole, Trent," a deeper voice responded.

Chase focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him. He knew he must look out of it—he felt like he'd been drugged. A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw sniffed at him, his face devoid of expression. A short, thin boy fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Chase with wide eyes. A thick, heavily muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Chase, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show off his biceps. A pale boy frowned—the same one who'd welcomed him. Countless others stared.

"Where am I?" Chase asked, surprised at hearing his voice for the first time in his salvageable memory. It didn't sound quite right—higher than he would've imagined.

"Nowhere good." This came from the pale boy. "Just slim yourself nice and calm."

"Which Keeper he gonna get?" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"I told ya, shuck-face," a shrill voice responded. "He's a klunk, so he'll be a Slopper—no doubt about it." The kid giggled like he'd just said the funniest thing in history.

Chase once again felt a pressing ache of confusion—hearing so many words and phrases that didn't make sense. Shank. Shuck. Keeper. Slopper. They popped out of the boys' mouths so naturally it seemed odd for him not to understand. It was as if his memory loss had stolen a chunk of his language—it was disorienting.

Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic. Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something awful. He wanted to run and hide from these people.

The scratchy-voiced boy was talking. "—even do that much, bet my liver on it." Chase still couldn't see his face.

"I said shut your holes!" the pale boy yelled. "Keep yapping and next break'll be cut in half!"

That must be their leader, Chase realized. Hating how everyone gawked at him, he concentrated on studying the place the boy had called the Glade.

The floor of the courtyard looked like it was made of huge stone blocks, many of them cracked and filled with long grasses and weeds. An odd, dilapidated wooden building near one of the corners of the square contrasted greatly with the gray stone. A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food. Another corner of the compound held gardens—from where he was standing Chase recognized corn, tomato plants, and fruit trees.

Across the courtyard from there stood wooden pens holding sheep and pigs and cows. A large grove of trees filled the final corner; the closest ones looked crippled and close to dying. The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, but Chase could see no sign of the sun despite the brightness of the day. The creeping shadows of the walls didn't reveal the time or direction—it could be early morning or late afternoon. As he breathed in deeply, trying to settle his nerves, a mixture of smells bombarded him. Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and something sweet. Somehow he knew that these were the smells of a farm.

Chase looked back at his captors, feeling awkward but desperate to ask questions. Captors, he thought. Then, why did that word pop into my head? He scanned their faces, taking in each expression, judging them. One boy's eyes, flared with hatred, stopped him cold. He looked so angry, Chase wouldn't have been surprised if the kid came at him with a knife. He had black hair, and when they made eye contact, the boy shook his head and turned away, walking toward a greasy iron pole with a wooden bench next to it. A multicolored flag hung limply at the top of the pole, no wind to reveal its pattern.

Chase stared at the boy's back until he turned and took a seat. Chase quickly looked away.

Suddenly the leader of the group—perhaps he was seventeen—took a step forward. He wore normal clothes: black T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, a digital watch. For some reason the clothing here surprised Chase; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing—like prison garb. The pale boy had short-cropped hair, his face clean shaven. But other than the permanent scowl, there was nothing scary about him at all.

"It's a long story, shank," the boy said. "Piece by piece, you'll learn—I'll be takin' you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then … just don't break anything." He held a hand out. "Name's Marcus." He waited, clearly wanting to shake hands.

Chase refused. Some instinct took over his actions and without saying anything he turned away from Marcus and walked to a nearby tree, where he plopped down to sit with his back against the rough bark. Panic swelled inside him once again, almost too much to bear. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to try to accept the situation. Just go with it, he thought. You won't figure out anything if you give in to fear.

"Then tell me," Chase called out, struggling to keep his voice even. "Tell me the long story."

Marcus glanced at the friends closest to him, rolling his eyes, and Chase studied the crowd again. His original estimate had been close—there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys in their mid-teens to young adults like Marcus, who seemed to be one of the oldest. At that moment, Chase realized with a sickening lurch that he had no idea how old he was. His heart sank at the thought—he was so lost he didn't even know his own age.

"Seriously," he said, giving up on the show of courage. "Where am I?"

Marcus walked over to him and sat down cross-legged; the crowd of boys followed and packed in behind. Heads popped up here and there, kids leaning in every direction to get a better look.

"If you ain't scared," Marcus said, "you ain't human. Act any different and I'd throw you off the Cliff because it'd mean you're a psycho."

"The Cliff?" Chase asked, blood draining from his face.

"Shuck it," Marcus said, rubbing his eyes. "Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill shanks like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever."

He paused, and Chase realized his face must've whitened even more when he heard that last part.

"Man," Marcus said, then ran his hands over his short hair as he let out a long sigh. "I ain't good at this—you're the first Greenbean since Nick was killed."

Chase's eyes widened, and another boy stepped up and playfully slapped Marcus across the head. "Wait for the Tour, Marcus," he said. "Kid's gonna have a buggin' heart attack, nothin' even been heard yet." He bent down and extended his hand toward Chase. "Name's Adam, Greenie, and we'd all be right cheery if ya'd forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader, here."

Chase reached out and shook the boy's hand—he seemed a lot nicer than Marcus. Adam was taller than Marcus too, but looked to be a year or so younger. "Pipe it, shuck-face," Marcus grunted, pulling Adam down to sit next to him. "At least he can understand half my words." There were a few scattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Marcus and Adam, packing in even tighter, waiting to hear what they said.

Marcus spread his arms out, palms up. "This place is called the Glade, all right? It's where we live, where we eat, where we sleep—we call ourselves the Gladers. That's all you—"

"Who sent me here?" Chase demanded, fear finally giving way to anger. "How'd—"

But Marcus's hand shot out before he could finish, grabbing Chase by the shirt as he leaned forward on his knees. "Get up, shank, get up!" Marcus stood, pulling Chase with him.

Chase finally got his feet under him, scared all over again. He backed against the tree, trying to get away from Marcus, who stayed right in his face.

"No interruptions, boy!" Marcus shouted. "Whacker, if we told you everything, you'd die on the spot, right after you klunked your pants. Baggers'd drag you off, and you ain't no good to us then, are ya?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Chase said slowly, shocked at how steady his voice sounded.

Adam reached out and grabbed Marcus by the shoulders. "Marcus, lay off a bit. You're hurtin' more than helpin', ya know?"

Marcus let go of Chase's shirt and stepped back, his chest heaving with breaths. "Ain't got time to be nice, Greenbean. Old life's over, new life's begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, and don't talk. You get me?"

Chase looked over at Adam, hoping for help.

Adam nodded. "Greenie, you get him, right?" He nodded again.

Chase fumed, wanted to punch somebody. But he simply said, "Yeah."

"Good that," Marcus said. "First Day. That's what today is for you, shank. Night's comin', Runners'll be back soon. The Box came late today, ain't got time for the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." He turned toward Adam. "Get him a bed, get him to sleep."

"Good that," Adam said.

Marcus's eyes returned to Chase, narrowing. "A few weeks, you'll be happy, shank. You'll be happy and helpin'. None of us knew jack on First Day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow."

Marcus turned and pushed his way through the crowd, then headed for the slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the kids wandered away then, each one giving Chase a lingering look before they walked off.

Chase folded his arms, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by a curiosity that burned his heart. Where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? The language was odd, and none of the boys seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come.

"What did I do?" he whispered, not really meaning for anyone to hear him. "What did I do—why'd they send me here?"

Adam clapped him on the shoulder. "Greenie, what you're feelin', we've all felt it. We've all had First Day, come out of that dark box. Things are bad, they are, and they'll get much worse for ya soon, that's the truth. But down the road a piece, you'll be fightin' true and good. I can tell you're not a sissy."

"Is this a prison?" Chase asked; he dug in the darkness of his thoughts, trying to find a crack to his past.

"Done asked four questions, haven't ya?" Adam replied. "No good answers for ya, not yet, anyway. Best be quiet now, accept the change—morn comes tomorrow."

Chase said nothing, his head sunk, his eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade.

"Leo should be a good fit for ya," Adam said. "Wee little shank, but nice sap when all's said and done. Stay here, I'll be back."

Adam had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. Chase felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building.

Even Adam had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern.

"Shuck it," he said. "Can't the Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" He shook his head and lightly kicked Chase on the foot. "Find Leo, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements." And then he turned and headed in the direction of the building, running.

Chase slid down the rough face of the tree until he sat on the ground again; he shrank back against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.

.


	3. The Changing

DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lab Rats or The Maze Runner series. This story was made for entertainment purposes and the originals belong to Disney Channel and James Dashner.**

Chase sat there for several moments, too overwhelmed to move. He finally forced himself to look over at the haggard building. A group of boys milled around outside, glancing anxiously at the upper windows as if expecting a hideous beast to leap up in an explosion of glass and wood.

A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side. He scrambled to his feet and walked around the tree, craning his neck for a sign of whatever he'd heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers—and looking just as alive.

"That was one of them beetle blades," someone said.

Chase turned to his right to see a kid standing nearby, short and thin, staring at him. He was young—probably the youngest of any in the group he'd seen so far, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old.

"A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," the boy said, pointing to the top of the tree. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused. "Shank." He didn't sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn't quite grasped the slang of the Glade. Another scream, this one long and nerve-grinding, tore through the air and Chase's heart lurched. The fear was like icy dew on his skin. "What's going on over there?" he asked, pointing at the building.

"Don't know," the boy replied; his voice still carried the high pitch of childhood. "Ben's in there, sicker than a dog. They got him."

"They?" Chase didn't like the malicious way the boy had said the word.

"Yeah."

"Who are They?"

"Better hope you never find out," the kid answered, looking far too comfortable for the situation. He held out his hand. "My name's Leo.I was the Greenbean until you showed up."

 _This is my guide for tonight?_ Chase thought. He couldn't shake his extreme discomfort, and now annoyance crept in as well. Nothing made sense; his head hurt."Why is everyone calling me Greenbean?" he asked, shaking Leo's hand quickly, then letting go.

"Cuz you're the newest Newbie." Leo pointed at Chase and laughed. Another scream came from the house, a sound like a starving animal being tortured.

"How can you be laughing?" Chase asked, horrified by the noise. "It sounds like someone's dying in there."

"He'll be okay. No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum. It's all or nothing. Dead or not dead. Just hurts a lot."

"What hurts a lot?"

Leo's eyes wandered as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Um, gettin' stung by the Grievers."

"Grievers?" Chase was only getting more and more confused. Stung. Grievers. The words had a heavy weight of dread to them, and he suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to know what Leo was talking about.

Leo shrugged, then looked away, eyes rolling.

Chase sighed in frustration and leaned back against the tree. "Looks like you barely know more than I do," he said, but he knew it wasn't true. His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the workings of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read. He didn't even know his age.

"Leo, how … old do you think I am?"

The boy scanned him up and down. "I'd say you're sixteen. And in case you were wondering, five foot nine … brown hair. Oh, and ugly as fried liver on a stick." He snorted a laugh.

Chase was so stunned he'd barely heard the last part. Sixteen? He was sixteen? He felt much older than that.

"Are you serious?" He paused, searching for words. "How …" He didn't even know what to ask.

"Don't worry. You'll be all whacked for a few days, but then you'll get used to this place. I have. We live here, this is it. Better than living in a pile of klunk." He squinted, maybe anticipating Chase's question. "Klunk's another word for poo. Poo makes a klunk sound when it falls in our pee pots."

Chase looked at Leo, unable to believe he was having this conversation. "That's nice" was all he could manage. He stood up and walked past Leo toward the old building; shack was a better word for the place. It looked three or four stories high and about to fall down at any minute—a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine and windows seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivy-strewn stone walls rising up behind it. As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made his stomach grumble. Knowing now that it was just a sick kid doing the screaming made Chase feel better. Until he thought about what had caused it …

"What's your name?" Leo asked from behind, running to catch up.

"What?"

"Your name? You still haven't told us—and I know you remember that much."

"Chase." He barely heard himself say it—his thoughts had spun in a new direction. If Leo was right, he'd just discovered a link to the rest of the boys. A common pattern to their memory losses. They all remembered their names. Why not their parents' names? Why not a friend's name? Why not their last names?

Chase had almost reached the front door of the shack and the small group of boys congregating there.

He'd reached the door, an ugly slab of sun-faded wood, and he pulled it open to see several stoic-faced boys standing at the foot of a crooked staircase, the steps and railings twisted and angled in all directions. Dark wallpaper covered the walls of the foyer and hallway, half of it peeling off. The only decorations in sight were a dusty vase on a three-legged table and a black-and-white picture of an ancient woman dressed in an old-fashioned white dress. It reminded Chase of a haunted house from a movie or something. There were even planks of wood missing from the floor.

The place reeked of dust and mildew—a big contrast to the pleasant smells outside. Flickering fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling. He hadn't thought of it yet, but he had to wonder where the electricity came from in a place like the Glade. He stared at the old woman in the picture. Had she lived here once? Taken care of these people?

"Hey, look, it's the Greenbean," one of the older boys called out. With a start, Chase realized it was the guy who'd given him the look of death earlier. "This shank probably klunked his pants when he heard old Benny baby scream like a girl. Need a new diaper, shuck-face?"

"I have a name, ya know." He had to get away from this guy. Without another word, he made for the stairs, only because they were close, only because he had no idea what to do or say. But the bully stepped in front of him, holding a hand up.

"Hold on there, Greenie." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the upper floor. "Newbies aren't allowed to see someone who's been … taken. Adam and Marcus won't allow it."

"What's your problem?" Chase asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, trying not to think what the kid had meant by taken. "I don't even know where I am. All I want is some help."

"Listen to me, Greenbean." The boy wrinkled up his face, folded his arms. "I've seen you before. Something's fishy about you showing up here, and I'm gonna find out what."

A surge of heat pulsed through Chase's veins. "I've never seen you before in my life. I have no idea who you are, and I couldn't care less," he spat. But really, how would he know? And how could this kid remember him?

The bully snickered, a short burst of laughter mixed with a phlegm-filled snort. Then his face grew serious, his eyebrows slanting inward. "I've … seen you, shank. Not too many in these parts can say they've been stung." He pointed up the stairs. "I have. I know what old Benny baby's going through. I've been there. And I saw you during the Changing."

He reached out and poked Chase in the chest. "And I bet your first meal from Douglas that Benny'll say he's seen ya, too."

Chase refused to break eye contact but decided to say nothing. Panic ate at him once again. Would things ever stop getting worse?

"Griever got ya wettin' yourself?" the boy said through a sneer. "A little scared now? Don't wanna get stung, do ya?"

There was that word again. Stung. Chase tried not to think about it and pointed up the stairs, from where the moans of the sick kid echoed through the building. "If Adam went up there, then I wanna talk to him."

The boy said nothing, stared at Chase for several seconds. Then he shook his head. "You know what? You're right, Chase—I shouldn't be so mean to Newbies. Go on upstairs and I'm sure Marcus and Adam will fill you in. Seriously, go on. I'm sorry."

He lightly slapped Chase's shoulder, then stepped back, gesturing up the stairs. But Chase knew the kid was up to something. Losing parts of your memory didn't make you an idiot.

"What's your name?" Chase asked, stalling for time while he tried to decide if he should go up after all.

"Trent. And don't let anyone fool you. I'm the real leader here, not the two geezer shanks upstairs. Me. You can call me Captain Trent if you want." He smiled for the first time; his teeth matched his disgusting face. Two or three were missing, and not a single one approached anything close to the color white. His breath escaped just enough for Chase to get a whiff, reminding him of some horrible memory that was just out of reach. It made his stomach turn.

"Okay," he said, so sick of the guy he wanted to scream, punch him in the face. "Captain Trent it is." He exaggerated a salute, feeling a rush of adrenaline, as he knew he'd just crossed a line.

A few snickers escaped the crowd, and Trent looked around, his face bright red. He peered back at Chase, hatred furrowing his brow and crinkling his monstrous nose.

"Just go up the stairs," Trent said. "And stay away from me, you little slinthead." He pointed up again but didn't take his eyes off Chase.

"Fine." Chase looked around one more time, embarrassed, confused, angry. He felt the heat of blood in his face. No one made a move to stop him from doing as Trent asked, except for Leo who stood at the front door, shaking his head.

"You're not supposed to," the younger boy said. "You're a Newbie—you can't go up there."

"Go," said Trent with a sneer. "Go on up."

Chase regretted having come inside in the first place—but he did want to talk to that Adam guy.

He started up the stairs. Each step groaned and creaked under his weight; he might've stopped for fear of falling through the old wood if he weren't leaving such an awkward situation below. Up he went, wincing at every splintered sound. The stairs reached a landing, turned left, then came upon a railed hallway leading to several rooms. Only one door had a light coming through the crack at the bottom.

"The Changing!" Trent shouted from below. "Look forward to it, shuck-face!"

As if the taunting gave Chase a sudden burst of courage, he walked over to the lit door, ignoring the creaking floorboards and laughter downstairs—ignoring the onslaught of words he didn't understand, suppressing the dreadful feelings they induced. He reached down, turned the brass handle, and opened the door.

Inside the room, Adam and Marcus crouched over someone lying on a bed.

Chase leaned in closer to see what the fuss was all about, but when he got a clear look at the condition of the patient, his heart went cold. He had to fight the bile that surged up his throat.

The look was fast—only a few seconds—but it was enough to haunt him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth. The image had already burned into Chase's mind before Marcus jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Chase out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them.

"What're you doing up here, Greenie!" Marcts yelled, his lips taut with anger, eyes on fire.

"I … uh … want some answers," Chase murmured, but he couldn't put any strength in his words—felt himself give up inside. What was wrong with that kid? He slouched against the railing in the hallway and stared at the floor, not sure what to do next.

"Get your runtcheeks down those stairs, right now," Marcus ordered. "Leo'll help you. If I see you again before tomorrow morning, you ain't reachin' another one alive. I'll throw you off the Cliff, you get me?"

Chase was humiliated and scared. He felt like he'd shrunk to the size of a small rat. Without saying a word, he pushed past Marcus and headed down the creaky steps, going as fast as he dared. Ignoring the gaping stares of everyone at the bottom—especially Trent—he walked out the door, pulling Leo by the arm as he did so.

Chase hated these people. He hated all of them. Except Leo. "Get me away from these guys," Chase said.

"You got it," Leo replied, his voice chipper, as if thrilled to be needed. "But first we should get you some food from Douglas."

"I don't know if I can ever eat again."

Leo nodded. "Of course you will. I'll meet you at the same tree as before. Ten minutes."

Chase was more than happy to get away from the house, and headed back toward the tree. He'd only known what it was like to be alive here for a short while and he already wanted it to end. He wished for all the world he could remember something about his previous life. Anything. His mom, his dad, a friend, his school, a hobby. A girl.

He blinked hard several times, trying to get the image of what he'd just seen in the shack out of his mind.

The Changing. Trent had called it the Changing.

It wasn't cold, but Chase shuddered once again.


	4. The Walls

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lab Rats or The Maze Runner series. This story was made for entertainment purposes and the originals belong to Disney Channel and James Dashener.**

Chase leaned against the tree as he waited for Leo. He scanned the compound of the Glade, this new place of nightmares where he seemed destined to live. The shadows from the walls had lengthened considerably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side.

At least this helped Chase know directions—the wooden building crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest. The farm area, where a few workers were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of the Glade. The animals were in the southeast corner, mooing and crowing and baying.

In the exact middle of the courtyard, the still-gaping hole of the Box lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home. Near that, maybe twenty feet to the south, stood a squat building made of rough concrete blocks, a menacing iron door its only entrance—there were no windows. A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheel marked the only way to open the door, just like something within a submarine. Despite what he'd just seen, Chase didn't know which he felt more strongly—curiosity to know what was inside, or dread at finding out.

Chase had just moved his attention to the four vast openings in the middle of the main walls of the Glade when Leo arrived, a couple of sandwiches cradled in his arms, along with apples and bottles of water.

"Douglas wasn't too happy about me invading his kitchen before suppertime," Leo said, sitting down next to the tree, motioning to Chase to do the same. He did, grabbed the sandwich, but hesitated, the writhing, monstrous image of what he'd seen in the shack popping back into his mind. Soon, though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of ham and cheese and mayonnaise filled his mouth.

"Ah, man," Chase mumbled through a mouthful. "I was starving."

"Told ya." Leo chomped into his own sandwich.

After another couple of bites, Chase finally asked the question that had been bothering him. "What's actually wrong with that Ben guy? He doesn't even look human anymore."

Leo glanced over at the house. "Don't really know," he muttered absently. "I didn't see him."

Chase could tell the boy was being less than honest but decided not to press him. "Well, you don't want to see him, trust me." He continued to eat, munching on the apples as he studied the huge breaks in the walls. Though it was hard to make out from where he sat, there was something odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outside corridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at the towering walls, as if he hovered above them instead of sitting at their base.

"What's out there?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. "Is this part of a huge castle or something?"

Leo hesitated. Looked uncomfortable. "Um, I've never been outside the Glade."

Chase paused. "You're hiding something," he finally replied, finishing off his last bite and taking a long swig of water. The frustration at getting no answers from anyone was starting to grind his nerves. It only made it worse to think that even if he did get answers, he wouldn't know if he'd be getting the truth. "Why are you guys so secretive?"

"That's just the way it is. Things are really weird around here, and most of us don't know everything. Half of everything."

It bothered Chase that Leo didn't seem to care about what he'd just said. That he seemed indifferent to having his life taken away from him. What was wrong with these people?

Chase got to his feet and started walking toward the eastern opening. "Well, no one said I couldn't look around." He needed to learn something or he was going to lose his mind.

"Whoa, wait!" Leo cried, running to catch up. "Be careful, those puppies are about to close." He already sounded out of breath.

"Close?" Chase repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"The Doors, you shank."

"Doors? I don't see any doors." Chase knew Leo wasn't just making stuff up—he knew he was missing something obvious. He grew uneasy and realized he'd slowed his pace, not so eager to reach the walls anymore.

"What do you call those big openings?" Leo pointed up at the enormously tall gaps in the walls. They were only thirty feet away now.

"I'd call them big openings," Chase said, trying to counter his discomfort with sarcasm and disappointed that it wasn't working.

"Well, they're doors. And they close up every night."

Chase stopped, thinking Leo had to have said something wrong. He looked up, looked side to side, examined the massive slabs of stone as the uneasy feeling blossomed into outright dread. "What do you mean, they close?"

"Just see for yourself in a minute. The Runners'll be back soon; then those big walls are going to move until the gaps are closed."

"You're jacked in the head," Chase muttered. He couldn't see how the mammoth walls could possibly be mobile—felt so sure of it he relaxed, thinking Leo was just playing a trick on him.

They reached the huge split that led outside to more stone pathways. Chase gaped, his mind emptying of thought as he saw it all firsthand.

"This is called the East Door," Leo said, as if proudly revealing a piece of art he'd created.

Chase barely heard him, shocked by how much bigger it was up close. At least twenty feet across, the break in the wall went all the way to the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast opening were smooth, except for one odd, repeating pattern on both sides. On the left side of the East Door, deep holes several inches in diameter and spaced a foot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground and continuing all the way up.

On the right side of the Door, foot-long rods jutted out from the wall edge, also several inches in diameter, in the same pattern as the holes facing them on the other side. The purpose was obvious.

"Are you kidding?" Chase asked, the dread slamming back into his gut. "You weren't playing with me? The walls really move?"

"What else would I have meant?"

Chase had a hard time wrapping his mind around the possibility. "I don't know. I figured there was a door that swung shut or a little mini-wall that slid out of the big one. How could these walls move? They're huge, and they look like they've been standing here for a thousand years." And the idea of those walls closing and trapping him inside this place they called the Glade was downright terrifying.

Leo threw his arms up, clearly frustrated. "I don't know, they just move. Makes one heck of a grinding noise. Same thing happens out in the Maze—those walls shift every night, too."

Chase, his attention suddenly snapped up by a new detail, turned to face the younger boy.

"What did you just say?"

"Huh?"

"You just called it a maze—you said, 'same thing happens out in the maze.'"

Leo's face reddened. "I'm done with you. I'm done." He walked back toward the tree they'd just left.

Chase ignored him, more interested than ever in the outside of the Glade. A maze? In front of him, through the East Door, he could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. And the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glade, the ground made of the same massive stone blocks as in the courtyard. The ivy seemed even thicker out there. In the distance, more breaks in the walls led to other paths, and farther down, maybe a hundred yards or so away, the straight passage came to a dead end.

"Looks like a maze," Chase whispered, almost laughing to himself. As if things couldn't have gotten any stranger. They'd wiped his memory and put him inside a gigantic maze. It was all so crazy it really did seem funny.

His heart skipped a beat when a boy unexpectedly appeared around a corner up ahead, entering the main passage from one of the offshoots to the right, running toward him and the Glade. Covered in sweat, his face red, clothes sticking to his body, the boy didn't slow, hardly glancing at Chase as he went past. He headed straight for the squat concrete building located near the Box.

Chase turned as he passed, his eyes riveted to the exhausted runner, unsure why this new development surprised him so much. Why wouldn't people go out and search the maze?

Then he realized others were entering through the remaining three Glade openings, all of them running and looking as ragged as the guy who'd just whisked by him. There couldn't be much good about the maze if these guys came back looking so weary and worn.

He watched, curious, as they met at the big iron door of the small building; one of the boys turned the rusty wheel handle, grunting with the effort. Leo had said something about runners earlier. What had they been doing out there?

The big door finally popped open, and with a deafening squeal of metal against metal, the boys swung it wide. They disappeared inside, pulling it shut behind them with a loud clonk. Chase stared, his mind churning to come up with any possible explanation for what he'd just witnessed. Nothing developed, but something about that creepy old building gave him goose bumps, a disquieting chill.

Someone tugged on his sleeve, breaking him from his thoughts; Leo had come back.

Before Chase had a chance to think, questions were rushing out of his mouth. "Who are those guys and what were they doing? What's in that building?" He wheeled around and pointed out the East Door. "And why do you live inside a freaking maze?" He felt a rattling pressure of uncertainty, making his head splinter with pain.

"I'm not saying another word," Leo replied, a new authority filling his voice. "I think you should get to bed early—you'll need your sleep. Ah"—he stopped, held up a finger, pricking up his right ear—"it's about to happen."

"What?" Chase asked, thinking it kind of strange that Leo was suddenly acting like an adult instead of the little kid he'd been only moments earlier.

A loud boom exploded through the air, making Chase jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbled backward, fell to the ground. It felt as if the whole earth shook; he looked around, panicked. The walls were closing. The walls were really closing—trapping him inside the Glade. An onrushing sense of claustrophobia stifled him, compressed his lungs, as if water filled their cavities.

"Calm down, Greenie," Leo yelled over the noise. "It's just the walls!"

Chase barely heard him, too fascinated, too shaken by the closing of the Doors. He scrambled to his feet and took a few trembling steps back for a better view, finding it hard to believe what his eyes were seeing.

The enormous stone wall to the right of them seemed to defy every known law of physics as it slid along the ground, throwing sparks and dust as it moved, rock against rock. The crunching sound rattled his bones. Chase realized that only that wall was moving, heading for its neighbor to the left, ready to seal shut with its protruding rods slipping into the drilled holes across from it. He looked around at the other openings. It felt like his head was spinning faster than his body, and his stomach flipped over with the dizziness. On all four sides of the Glade, only the right walls were moving, toward the left, closing the gap of the Doors.

Impossible, he thought. How can they do that? He fought the urge to run out there, slip past the moving slabs of rock before they shut, flee the Glade. Common sense won out—the maze held even more unknowns than his situation inside.

He tried to picture in his mind how the structure of it all worked. Massive stone walls, hundreds of feet high, moving like sliding glass doors—an image from his past life that flashed through his thoughts. He tried to grasp the memory, hold on to it, complete the picture with faces, names, a place, but it faded into obscurity. A pang of sadness pricked through his other swirling emotions.

He watched as the right wall reached the end of its journey, its connecting rods finding their mark and entering without a glitch. An echoing boom rumbled across the Glade as all four Doors sealed shut for the night. Chase felt one final moment of trepidation, a quick slice of fear through his body, and then it vanished.

A surprising sense of calm eased his nerves; he let out a long sigh of relief. "Wow," he said, feeling dumb at such a monumental understatement.

"Ain't nothin', as Marcus would say," Leo murmured. "You kind of get used to it after a while."

Chase looked around one more time, the feel of the place completely different now that all the walls were solid with no way out. He tried to imagine the purpose of such a thing, and he didn't know which guess was worse—that they were being sealed in or that they were being protected from something out there. The thought ended his brief moment of calm, stirring in his mind a million possibilities of what might live in the maze outside, all of them terrifying. Fear gripped him once again.

"Come on," Leo said, pulling at Chase's sleeve a second time. "Trust me, when nighttime strikes, you want to be in bed."

Chase knew he had no other choice. He did his best to suppress everything he was feeling and followed.


	5. The Prank

~~~~~Sorry for the late update~~~~~~

(Honestly I have no excuse for it)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lab Rats or The Maze Runner. This story was made for entertainment purposes and the originals belong to Disney Channel and James Dashner.

They ended up near the back of the Homestead—that was what Leo called the leaning structure of wood and windows—in a dark shadow between the building and the stone wall behind it.

"Where are we going?" Chase asked, still feeling the weight of seeing those walls close, thinking about the maze, the confusion, the fear. He told himself to stop or he'd drive himself crazy. Trying to grasp a sense of normalcy, he made a weak attempt at a joke. "If you're looking for a goodnight kiss, forget it."

Leo didn't miss a beat. "Just shut up and stay close."

Chase let out a big breath and shrugged before following the younger boy along the back of the building. They tiptoed until they came upon a small, dusty window, a soft beam of light shining through onto the stone and ivy. Chase heard someone moving around inside.

"The bathroom," Leo whispered.

"So?" A thread of unease stitched along Chase's skin.

"I love doing this to people. Gives me great pleasure before bedtime."

"Doing what?" Something told Chase that Leo was up to no good. "Maybe I should—"

"Just shut your mouth and watch." Leo quietly stepped up onto a big wooden box that sat right under the window. He crouched so that his head was positioned just below where the person on the inside would be able to see him. Then he reached up with his hand and lightly tapped on the glass.

"This is stupid," Chase whispered. There couldn't possibly be a worse time to play a joke—Adam or Marcus could be in there. "I don't wanna get in trouble—I just got here!"

Leo suppressed a laugh by putting his hand over his mouth. Ignoring Chase, he reached up and tapped the window again.

A shadow crossed the light; then the window slid open. Chase jumped to hide, pressing himself against the back of the building as hard as he could. He just couldn't believe he'd been suckered into playing a practical joke on somebody. The angle of vision from the window protected him for the moment, but he knew he and Leo would be seen if whoever was in there pushed his head outside to get a better look.

"Who's that?" yelled the boy from the bathroom, his voice scratchy and laced with anger. Chase had to hold in a gasp when he realized it was Trent—he knew that voice already.

Without warning, Leo suddenly popped his head up toward the window and screamed at the top of his lungs. A loud crash from inside revealed that the trick had worked—and the litany of swearwords following it let them know Trent was none too happy about it. Chase was struck with an odd mix of horror and embarrassment.

"I'm gonna kill you, shuck-face!" Trent yelled, but Leo was already off the box and running toward the open Glade. Chase froze as he heard Gally open the door inside and run out of the bathroom.

Chase finally snapped out of his daze and took off after his new—and only—friend. He'd just rounded the corner when Trent came screaming out of the Homestead, looking like a ferocious beast on the loose.

He immediately pointed at Chase. "Come here!" he yelled.

Chase's heart sank in surrender. Everything seemed to indicate that he'd be getting a fist in the face. "It wasn't me, I swear," he said, though as he stood there, he sized the boy up and realized he shouldn't be so terrified after all. Trent wasn't that big—Chase could actually take him if he had to.

"Wasn't you?" Trent snarled. He ambled up to Chase slowly and stopped right in front of him. "Then how do you know there was something you didn't do?"

Chase didn't say anything. He was definitely uncomfortable but not nearly as scared as a few moments earlier.

"I'm not a dong, Greenie," Trent spat. "I saw Leo's face in the window." He pointed again, this time right at Chase chest. "But you better decide right quick who you want as your friends and enemies, hear me? One more trick like that—I don't care if it's your sissy idea or not—there'll be blood spilled. You got that, Newbie?"

But before Chase could answer Trent'd already turned to walk away.

Chase just wanted this episode over. "Sorry," he muttered, wincing at how stupid it sounded.

"I know you," Trent added without looking back. "I saw you in the Changing, and I'm gonna figure out who you are."

Chase watched as the bully disappeared back into the Homestead. He couldn't remember much, but something told him he'd never disliked someone so strongly. He was surprised by how much he truly hated the guy. He really, really hated him. He turned to see Leo standing there, staring at the ground, clearly embarassed. "Thanks a lot, buddy."

"Sorry—if I'd known it was Trent, I never would've done it, I swear."

Surprising himself, Chase laughed. An hour ago, he'd thought he'd never hear such a sound come out of his mouth again.

Leo looked closely at Chase and slowly broke into an uneasy grin. "What?"

Chase shook his head. "Don't be sorry. The … shank deserved it, and I don't even know what a shank is. That was awesome."

A couple of hours later, Chase was lying in a soft sleeping bag next to Leo on a bed of grass near the gardens. It was a wide lawn that he hadn't noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as their bedtime spot. Chase thought that was strange, but apparently there wasn't enough room inside the Homestead. At least it was warm. Which made him wonder for the millionth time where they were.

His mind had a hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries or rulers, how the world was organized. And none of the kids in the Glade had a clue, either—at least, they weren't sharing if they did.

He lay in silence for the longest time, looking at the stars and listening to the soft murmurs of various conversations drifting across the Glade.

Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn't shake the despair and hopelessness that coursed through his body and mind—the temporary joy of Leo's trick on Trent had long since faded away. It'd been one endless—and strange—day.

It was just so … weird. He remembered lots of little things about life—eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through a foot of muddy water. More than anything else, perhaps, he felt..sad.

Leo interrupted his thoughts. "Well, Greenie, you survived First Day."

"Barely." Not now, Leo, he wanted to say. I'm not in the mood.

Leo pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Chase. "You'll learn a lot in the next couple of days, start getting used to things. Good that?"

"Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where'd all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?" It seemed like they'd taken some other language and melded it with his own.

Leo flopped back down with a heavy flump. "I don't know—I've only been here a month, remember?"

Chase wondered about Leo, whether he knew more than he let on. He was a quirky kid, funny, and he seemed innocent, but who was to say? Really he was just as mysterious as everything else in the Glade.

A few minutes passed, and Chase felt the long day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep crossing over his mind. But—like a fist had shoved it in his brain and let go—a thought popped into his head. One that he didn't expect, and he wasn't sure from where it came.

Suddenly, the Glade, the walls, the Maze—it all seemed … familiar. Comfortable. A warmth of calmness spread through his chest, and for the first time since he'd found himself there, he didn't feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe. He stilled, felt his eyes widen, his breathing stop for a long moment. What just happened? he thought. What changed? Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy.

Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. He didn't get it. The feeling—the epiphany—was a strange one, foreign and familiar at the same time. But it felt … right.

"I want to be one of those guys that goes out there," he said aloud, not knowing if Leo was still awake. "Inside the Maze."

"Huh?" was the response from Leo. Chase could hear a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Runners," Chase said, wishing he knew where this was coming from. "Whatever they're doing out there, I want in."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Leo grumbled, and rolled over. "Go to sleep."

Chase felt a new surge of confidence, even though he truly didn't know what he was talking about. "I want to be a Runner."

Leo turned back and got up on his elbow. "You can forget that little thought right now."

Chase wondered at Leo's reaction, but pressed on. "Don't try to—"

"Chase. Newbie. My new friend. Forget it."

"I'll tell Marcus tomorrow." A Runner, Chase thought. I don't even know what that means. Have I gone completely insane?

Leo lay down with a laugh. "You're a piece of klunk. Go to sleep."

But Chase couldn't quit. "Something out there—it feels familiar."

" .Sleep."

Then it hit Chase—he felt like several pieces of a puzzle had been put together. He didn't know what the ultimate picture would be, but his next words almost felt like they were coming from someone else. "Leo, I … I think I've been here before."

He heard his friend sit up, heard the intake of breath. But Chase rolled over and refused to say another word, worried he'd mess up this new sense of being encouraged, eradicate the reassuring calm that filled his heart.

Sleep came much more easily than he'd expected.


End file.
